"Braised Pork": a review of An Yu's debut novel

"Braised Pork" by An Yu

A review

An Yu’s debut novel Braised Pork starts with the grotesque death of businessman Chen Hang in his Beijing apartment.  His young wife Jia Jia discovers him drowned in a half-filled bath, face down and “his rump sticking out from the water”.  Is it suicide or a freak accident? Jia Jia can’t really say, especially since the couple have long been drifting apart and Chen Hang rarely opened up to her.  Jia Jia only has two clues to try to get to the heart of the mystery. One is the strange sketch of what she calls “the fish-man”, a fish with a human head, which she finds in the bathroom close to her husband’s lifeless body.  Another is a related, unsettling dream which Chen Hang had whilst on a solitary trip to Tibet and which he had uncharacteristically phoned to tell her about.  

Jia Jia’s marriage was built on convenience, not love.  Yet this does not make it any easier for her to come to terms with her loss and with the upheaval – both practical and emotional – which her husband’s death brings.  This unforeseen tragedy also triggers memories of older pains, including her parents’ separation and her mother’s death.   Jia Jia believes that the solution of the “fish-man” enigma might give her the replies she craves, and she finally decides to get to the bottom of the mystery, by recreating Chen Hang’s trip to Tibet.  It will become a voyage of (self-) discovery.

An Yu has given us a strange little novel which I’m not sure I managed to come to grips with.  There is a strong element of magical realism, characterised by mythical figures (such as the “Grandpa” character Jia Jia meets in Tibet) and obscure dream sequences featuring a mysterious “water world”. Indeed, imagery relating to water permeates the whole novel – a Kindle search tells me that the word “water” is explicitly mentioned 107 times in the book.  That, of course, does not include other more oblique allusions and images, including the aquarium bought by Jia Jia’s aunt, the description of the lakes and rivers of Tibet and the smog-tainted snow of Beijing, and even the unexpected mention of Maurice Ravel’s Jeux d’Eau in the final paragraphs of the novel. Jia herself is compared to water:   Leo, the barman with whom she attempts a relationship, tells her she is “like water…your beauty is soft and quiet”.

The meaning behind these watery metaphors remains frustratingly elusive. Do they symbolise tears of grief? Is the dark “watery world” a symbol of depression?  Few answers are given. And perhaps the author’s intention is precisely that.   The magical elements add an aura of mystery and lyricism to what is, at heart, a touching portrayal of a young widow struggling to overcome her loss and make peace with her past. 

Braised Pork is an unusual dish, and I’m not sure all its ingredients fit together. But despite my head-scratching, I certainly enjoyed reading it.  Apparently, Harvill Secker bought 26-year old An Yu’s debut after a seven-way auction, and have committed to publishing her second novel.   This author is going places. 

    

Nicholas K. Roerich (1874-1947): "Tibet (Sacred Lake)"